


Just Desserts

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: After a failed attempt on the life of your soon-to-be ex-husband, the spotlight is trained on you, leading to your arrest and indictment on conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder charges. With nowhere to go and no one else to turn to, you call hotshot lawyer, Steve Rogers, to help you prove to everyone that you’re not the guilty party.





	1. You Have the Right to Remain Silent

"Mrs. Rumlow, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder.” The officer yanked you to your feet, all while tugging a pair of handcuffs from his belt. He turned you around and closed the cold steel around your wrist.

“Wh-what? I-I don’t understand,” you gasped, struggling to turn around and look at the man arresting you. “Whose murder?”

“Your husband, Mrs. Rumlow,” the officer growled. “Brock.”

The world tipped on its axis, your vision going black, all of the sound in the room sucked out like you were in some kind of vacuum, then suddenly whooshing back in and filling your head with a deafening roar.

_You have the right to remain silent._

Don’t talk, don’t say anything, not until you could figure out what the hell was going on.

_Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law._

If you opened your mouth and said the wrong thing, it would be used against you. You needed to keep your mouth shut. If anybody knew that, it was you.

_You have the right to an attorney._

A lawyer? Were you really going to need a lawyer? What had that asshole done now? What did he say you did? What strings did he pull to get you arrested? What did he tell his father this time?

_If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you._

Right, some public defender who was stressed and overworked, who would most likely try to get you to cut a deal so he could go home early.

_Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?_

“Y-yes,” you stammered.

_With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?_

“I want a lawyer,” you whispered.

* * *

“If your father walks in here and see your feet on the desk, and that drink in your hand, he’s gonna kick your ass,” Bucky chuckled, pointing at Steve reclining in his chair.

“I’m not fifteen anymore, Buck,” Steve laughed. “And I deserve to relax for a few minutes. My last case made this firm a couple of million dollars. My father should be in here thanking me.”

“Yeah, he should,” Bucky nodded. “But, I give it ten minutes and he’ll be in here with another case.”

Steve swallowed the last of the scotch in his glass and dropped it to the desk. “Probably,” he agreed, shaking his head. Maria Hill, his assistant and paralegal extraordinaire, stuck her head in the door. “Hey, Steve? You have a call on line one. Y/N Rumlow?”

“Brock Rumlow’s wife?” Bucky raised one eyebrow. “Why the hell would she be calling you?”

“We dated in college,” Steve shrugged. “Haven’t talked to her in years though, not since she married Rumlow. Maria, can you take a message? Tell her I’ll call her back?”

“She said it’s urgent, Steve,” Maria shook her head. “She’s calling from the station. She needs a lawyer.”

Not one to turn his back on someone in need, Steve dropped his feet to the floor and snatched the phone from the hook. “This is Steve Rogers.” He listened intently for a few minutes, nodding every now and then, scribbling on the notepad in front of him, his brows furrowed. “All right, Y/N, try to stay calm. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t speak to anyone, not without me.” He dropped the phone back in the cradle and rose to his feet. He shoved the notebook and a few file folders in his briefcase.

“Buck, I need you to find out what exactly happened to Brock Rumlow,” Steve ordered, all business.

“What do you mean? What happened to Rumlow?” Bucky asked, setting his drink on the desk and pulling a small leather notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket, along with a pen.

“Apparently, someone tried to kill him,” Steve mumbled.

“Holy shit,” Bucky whistled, shaking his head.

“Pull some strings, call in every favor, check with your contacts, find out everything you can. And if possible, don’t let the commissioner know you’re asking questions. Call me once you have more information.” He didn’t wait for a response from his best friend and the best private investigator in the state, instead, he slammed his briefcase shut and hurried out of the office.

Twenty minutes later, he was striding through the front door of the police station, heading for the first familiar face he saw. Unfortunately, that familiar face belonged to Gilmore Hodge, a less than competent officer who had had more than a few run-ins with Steve in the courtroom.

“Mr. Rogers? What brings you in today?” Hodge sneered, eyeing Steve up and down. “Are you slumming?”

"I'm here to see Y/N Rumlow," Steve said, doing his best to hold his temper in check. Punching Hodge in the face wouldn’t get him in to see his client.

"What?" Hodge raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell would you want to see her?"

"I'm her lawyer," Steve replied calmly.

Hodge straightened up, blowing an irritated breath out of his nose. “You’re gonna be her lawyer?” he scoffed. “Don’t waste your time. She’s fucking guilty.”

Steve slapped his hands down on the counter and leaned forward, glowering at the bigmouth behind the counter, resisting - again - the urge to punch him. “I don’t give a shit what you think, Hodge. You either take me to my client now or I will have your goddamn badge. She asked for her lawyer and you are impeding her constitutional rights. So, move your fucking ass.”

Hodge nodded and scurried away, returning less than a minute later. He handed Steve a folder and gestured for him to follow him down a long hallway to one of the interview rooms where Y/N was waiting. As soon as the door opened, Steve stepped inside and slammed it in Hodge’s face.

Relief washed over Y/N’s face when he turned to her. She was sitting at a metal table in the middle of the room, her hands folded in front of her, silver handcuffs wrapped around her wrists and secured to the a metal ring on the table. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her hair hanging in her face, her clothes askew and her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she was gnawing at it incessantly.

“Oh, thank God,” she gasped, fresh tears leaking from her eyes.

Steve hurried around the table, his briefcase dropping to the floor as he slid into the seat beside her. He covered her hands with one of his, squeezing gently.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here now and we’re gonna get this figured out.”

She nodded, but the tears didn’t stop. “I-I’m sorry I c-called you,” she muttered. “I didn’t know what else to do -”

“Don’t apologize,” Steve shook his head. “You did the right thing. Now, tell me what happened.”

* * *

You felt like a fool, calling someone you hadn’t spoken to in years, an ex-boyfriend nonetheless, but you couldn’t think of anyone else. It wasn’t like you could call your divorce attorney; the man barely had enough experience to help you with your divorce let alone help you with something of this magnitude. The first name to come to mind had been Steve Rogers - hotshot lawyer, rich playboy, philanthropist, and all around do-gooder. You figured if anyone could - and would - help you, it would be Steve.

You dragged in a stuttering breath and closed your eyes. “I-I’m not sure,” you whispered. “This morning I was in the employee locker room, getting ready, when three policemen showed up. They told me Brock was there, in the hospital, that someone had beat him up. They were all talking at once, asking me a lot of questions, confusing me. The next thing I knew, they were handcuffing me and telling me I was under arrest.”

"Did you answer any of their questions?" Steve asked, digging a pen and notebook out of his briefcase.

"I-I don't think so," you shook your head. "But I don't remember. Everything was happening so fast and everyone was talking at once..."

"It's okay if you did," Steve reassured you. "If they hadn't read you your rights, anything you said would be inadmissible." He flipped open the folder sitting in front of him and quickly read the arrest report. He was frowning as he flipped through the other pages in the folder. He closed the folder and cleared his throat.

"Do you know what happened to Brock?" he murmured.

"No," you said. "I was home last night, catching up on paperwork. I didn't see him, haven't seen him since last week."

"Can anyone testify to that?" Steve's pen was poised above the paper.

"Testify?" you snapped. "What do you mean, testify?"

"Y/N, breathe," Steve whispered. "It's okay."

You took a deep breath. "M-my friend, Clint dropped by around nine with some paperwork. But otherwise I was alone. What happened to Brock, Steve?"

Steve shifted uneasily in his seat and reopened the folder. "Around ten last night, Brock's condo was broken into and he was assaulted. The assailant had a knife and a gun; Brock was severely beaten with the butt of the gun and stabbed several times. He somehow managed to wrestle the gun out of the assailant's hand and during the struggle, the assailant was shot and killed. Brock called 9-1-1 before he passed out."

"Why do the police think I was involved?" you asked.

"According to witnesses, you knew the assailant," Steve said. “They believe you hired him to kill Brock. Something about getting out of your prenuptial agreement and collecting on Brock’s life insurance policy.”

Before you could respond, the door opened and a pretty blonde walked in, followed by a man in a suit, his badge and gun visible on his waist. Steve rose to his feet, his hand on your shoulder.

"Sharon," Steve nodded at the blonde. "You're handling this case?"

"I am," she said snarkily. "Mrs. Rumlow, I’m Sharon Carter, assistant district attorney. And this is Tony Stark, lead detective. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Steve’s hand on your shoulder tightened noticeably, so you kept quiet.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to my client,” Steve said. “So, she’s not talking to anyone right now.”

“Fine, but you should know that the D.A.’s office believes we have enough evidence to indict.” Sharon held a piece of paper out to Steve, watching him carefully.

“You’re joking?” He snatched the paper out of her hand and quickly read it. “You’re indicting on this? This is bullshit.”

“The bail hearing is set for two p.m.,” Sharon shrugged. “If you want to talk before then, Mrs. Rumlow -”

“It’s Ms. Y/L/N,” you snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Sharon murmured. “I didn’t think your divorce was final.”

“It’s not,” you sighed. “But, I starting using my maiden name when we separated. I don’t care to be associated with that name anymore.”

“Oh, really?” Sharon smiled, while Detective Stark scribbled something in a notebook he’d pulled from his pocket. “Care to explain why?”

“That’s enough, Sharon,” Steve said. “I’d like some time alone with my client, if you don’t mind. We’ll see you at the bail hearing at two.”

Sharon smiled at both you and Steve before spinning on her heel and leaving. Detective Stark hung back, watching her go. Once the door closed behind her, he turned to face you, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“There’s still a lot of investigating to do, Steve,” he said. “She’s in a rush, trying to prove herself. You know Sharon -”

“Always looking out for number one,” Steve sighed.

“She wants to get on the commissioner’s good side,” Tony said, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking your cuffs. He smiled at you when you murmured your thanks. “No better way to do it. But you know me, Steve. I’ll be fair.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve replied. “I appreciate that.”

Detective Stark shook both yours and Steve’s hands, then he took his leave. Steve sat down beside you once again, his pen back in his hand. He asked you something, but you didn’t hear him; your mind was racing, the implications of what was happening suffocating you.

“Wh-why?” you finally managed to sputter. “Why me?”

“You and Brock were going through a nasty divorce, you knew the assailant, and you don’t have a decent alibi,” Steve explained. “Not to mention, you’re the soon-to-be ex-daughter-in-law of the police commissioner, the woman who has caused quite a bit of bad press for him, his son, and his police department in the last few months. This would shut you up. And discredit you and everything you’ve said. Of course they’re going to look at you first.”

You nodded, the tears starting again. “Who died, Steve?” you asked. “Who is it that died that I know?”

Steve glanced at the folder. “Sam Wilson? Says here he was a veteran -”

“Sam?” you gasped. “Oh, God, not Sam. Jesus Christ. He was...he was a patient in my support group. He was an addict. He got hurt in the war, put on pain pills, got addicted. I was trying to help him, working with him to get better. He was doing so well.” A sob ripped its way out of your throat, your entire body shuddering. “How...how can they think that Sam did this? He would never do something like that. I would never do something like this. Never. It’s a lie. It’s all a lie.” You brushed angrily at the tears rolling down your face. “You have to help me, Steve. Please help me.”

Steve took your hand again, his hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles. “Hey, hey,” he murmured. “That’s why you called me, right? To help you? And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“I’m not sure anyone can help me,” you whispered.

“I can,” Steve said. “And trust me, I will.”

 


	2. Rush to Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve prepares for your bail hearing while you wait to be released.

 

Steve threw his briefcase on the large table in his office, stripped off his jacket, and sat on the edge of the small sofa in the corner, his elbows on his knees, toes bouncing, mind racing. He eyed the bar against the wall, but he couldn’t drink, not now, not when he was expected to be in court in less than three hours for Y/N’s bail hearing.

His office door opened and Maria walked in, a stack of folders and a notebook in her hand, Bucky trailing behind her holding a cardboard tray laden with three large coffees. They sat in the chairs opposite the sofa, ready to work.

Steve quickly explained what had happened at the station with Y/N, what she was being charged with, and what he suspected would happen at the bail hearing. When he finished, he nodded at his friend.

“Bucky?”

Bucky flipped open his notebook. “The police were called to Rumlow’s house at approximately ten minutes after ten last night. They entered the premises through the open front door, moving quickly through the house, eventually finding Rumlow at the foot of the stairs, unconscious. An ambulance was called and one of the officers, Jasper Sitwell, stayed with Rumlow, while the other, Peter Quill, continued searching the house. In an office located at the back of the house, Sam Wilson, an army veteran, was found, dead. He’d been shot in the sternum. Photos from the crime scene show that there had obviously been a struggle between the two men - a chair was knocked over, papers littered the ground, in several places it looked as if the drywall was dented or damaged.”

“So, Sam broke in?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “No, there was no indication that he broke in. No windows were broken, doors weren’t damaged, it looks like Rumlow let him in.”

“Did Brock know Sam?” Maria had a pad of paper on her lap and was taking notes as she listened.

“According to the police report, no,” Bucky said.

“He wouldn’t have let some guy he didn’t know into his house late at night,” Steve added.

“The police think Y/N was with Sam,” Bucky continued.

“What?” Steve interjected. “That’s not what the police report I saw at the station said. There wasn’t anything in it about Y/N being at the crime scene.”

“Apparently, when Rumlow regained consciousness and gave his statement, he told them he opened the door for his wife, that she was the one he was letting into the house,” Bucky explained. “Except she didn’t come in, instead, Sam pushed his way in and attacked Rumlow, hitting him repeatedly with the butt of the gun. Rumlow said he managed to get away and run to the back of the house, to the office where he’d left his phone. Sam followed him, stabbing him several times - those wounds are mostly superficial, except for one that penetrated his leg, missing his femoral artery by centimeters. Rumlow said he finally turned to fight, they struggled for the gun and during the fight, the gun went off. He said he snatched his phone off the desk and hurried back to the front of the house to find his wife, but she was gone. He called 9-1-1 just before he passed out.”

Steve shook his head, trying to connect the dots, to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Y/N says she was home, alone, doing paperwork. Maria, I need you to call Clint Barton, get him in here right away. Supposedly, he was at her house around nine. We need to establish an accurate timeline, see if there was time for her to meet up with Sam and get to Brock’s by ten. Also, I need to understand how they decided to charge her with conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder _before_ they even had Rumlow’s statement. The fact that she knew Sam wasn’t a good enough reason, there was something else that pushed them to make that decision.”

“The commissioner?” Maria asked.

“That’s what I think,” Steve said. “Buck, did anybody see Brock before the police took his statement?”

Bucky was nodding before Steve had finished his sentence. “His parents, they were in the room when he woke up.”

“Jesus, this reeks of a set up,” Maria mumbled. “Do you think Y/N will get bail?”

“Depends on the judge,” Steve shrugged. “And what garbage Sharon spouts.”

“Sharon is the D.A. assigned to the case?” Bucky growled. “Great.”

Steve shot an annoyed look Bucky’s way. “You don’t think I can handle Sharon Carter?”

“You couldn’t handle her when you were engaged to her,” Bucky scoffed.

“And on that note, I’m out,” Maria laughed. “I’m going to find Clint, see if I can get him in here to talk to us. Then I’ll see if I can figure out which judge is up. Maybe it’ll help us with the bail situation.” She shoved herself to her feet, stopping just long enough to press a kiss to Bucky’s eager lips, then she strolled out the door, a woman on a mission.

“Seriously, Steve, what are you going to do about Sharon?” Bucky asked. “She’s always been a thorn in your side and every time you’ve gone up against her -”

“Every time was twice, Bucky,” Steve muttered. “I’ve gone up against her in court twice.”

“And lost both times,” Bucky sighed.

“That was a long time ago,” Steve shot back. “A lot has changed. Besides, the focus of this case is not me and Sharon, it’s Y/N and Brock. What do we know about them besides the local gossip?”

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged. “Married about five years, rumors of domestic abuse, no kids, going through a bitter divorce. Y/N claims the abuse was covered up by the police, that not one of her reports was filed in any kind of official capacity because Rumlow’s father is the police commissioner. She supposedly went to the press, which has caused all kinds of problems for the Rumlows.”

Steve checked his watch. “See what else you can find out,” he ordered. “Once Y/N is out of jail, I want to hit the ground running. We’re already playing catch up, we need to move fast, find out what we can so we can do what we can to get Y/N out of this mess.”

Bucky picked at a string on his dress pants, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “You think she did it? Set Rumlow up, I mean.”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Bucky tipped his head to one side, staring hard at his best friend. “Why?”

“I just have a gut feeling, Buck,” he replied. “I can’t explain it.”

“I don’t need you to explain it,” Bucky said. “If you say you don’t think she did it, I believe you. I trust you, Steve, always have, always will. I trust your gut.” He stood, moving toward the door. “I’ll find out everything I can.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve murmured.

* * *

You pushed yourself further into the corner, your arms wrapped around yourself, shifting uncomfortably on the hard metal bench. You had no idea what time it was - they’d taken your watch when they’d arrested you - but it felt like it had been hours since you’d met with Steve. Because your bail hadn’t been set, you weren’t allowed to leave, instead, you’d been escorted to a holding cell in the courthouse after Steve had left to prepare for your bail hearing.

You hugged yourself tighter, shivering slightly. You were barely holding yourself together and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry, letting the frustrations of the past eight hours free. As horrible as Brock had been, as terrible as he’d treated you, and even with all of the things he’d done, you’d never imagined he’d pull something like this. How could you? This was above and beyond insanity.

“Mrs. Rumlow?”

You rolled your eyes at the continued use of your married name and turned to peer through the bars of the cell. Officer Hodge stood on the other side, smirking at you.

“Gilmore,” you said. You didn’t bother to remind him to use your maiden name; just like you didn’t bother to refer to him as Officer Hodge. He didn’t deserve that kind of respect.

“Time to go,” he sneered. “Bail hearing.” He unlocked the cell door, gesturing for you to step out.

You did, only to be met with another officer holding a set of handcuffs. You sighed heavily and held out your hands. The cold steel closed around your wrists, snapping closed with a loud click. You followed them through the back hallway to an elevator. Hodge stepped inside with you while the other officer hung back, watching you as the door closed.

As soon as it slid shut, Hodge turned to you. “How the hell can you afford a lawyer like Rogers?” he sneered. “That guy costs what, two, three hundred dollars an hour?”

“How is that any of your business, Gilmore?” you snapped.

“You’re probably fucking him, just like you’re fucking Barton,” he muttered under his breath. “And God knows who else.”

“What did you say?” You were shaking from head to toe, nausea making your stomach churn and your head spin. It had been one of the longest days of your life and now this asshole was accusing you of sleeping with your lawyer. And one of your best friends.

Of course, Hodge was one of Brock’s closest friends and allies, so it shouldn’t have surprised you. The party line since the day you’d filed for divorce was that you were a cheater. Anything to save the Rumlow’s precious family fortune. If you cheated, per your prenuptial agreement, you walked away with nothing, in fact, you’d owe the asshole money. Brock had been accusing you of cheating since the beginning.

Hodge mumbled something you couldn’t hear under his breath and shook his head. “You really get around don’t you?” he said. “Brock always said you were a slut, but I never realized how much of one you were until -”

You slapped him across the face, the chain on the handcuffs grazing his jaw. An angry growl came from him and then next thing you knew, you were shoved face first against the elevator wall, Hodge’s hand in the middle of your back. He was saying something into the walkie attached to his shoulder, but you couldn’t make it out over the roaring in your ears. A couple seconds later, the elevator door opened and another officer stepped inside, grabbed your hands, uncuffed you, pulled your hands behind your back, and quickly cuffed you again.

“Jesus Christ, let her go,” a loud, angry voice shouted from somewhere behind you. A strong arm slid around your waist and pulled you away from the wall. You looked up to see Steve stepping between you, Hodge, and the other officer, a scowl on his face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

“She hit me,” Hodge yelled, rubbing his jaw. “Punched me in the elevator.”

“H-he called me a slut,” you mumbled, “and accused me of sleeping with you and Clint and apparently anybody else I could. I-I overreacted and slapped him.” You sniffed, tears and snot covering your face. “I-I’m sorry -” Your voice faded away, taken over by the sobs you could no longer hold back. You’d had more than you could take - the arrest, the accusations, Sam’s death, the things Hodge had said to you, it was just too much. You sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. You heard Steve talking to someone you couldn’t see, not through the tears clouding your eyes. He led you out of the elevator, his arm around your shoulders.

“Maria? Can you find Judge Fury’s bailiff? See if she’ll go with you and Y/N to the restroom so she can get cleaned up before her bail hearing?”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Hodge grumbled. “I’m taking her back downstairs and booking her for assaulting an officer.” His arm closed around your upper arm and he yanked you away from Steve. “They can add that charge to the rest of them.”

“Officer Hodge, I suggest you let Ms. Y/L/N go.” Detective Stark appeared at your side, as if out of nowhere. “She’s going with Ms. Hill and Officer Maximoff here to get cleaned up and then she’s appearing before the judge to have her bail set. You are going to go back downstairs, back to your desk, and forget any of this happened.”

“But she hit me -”

Stark’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders stiffening as he shifted forward on one foot, his index finger hitting Hodge in the center of his chest. “You provoked her,” he growled. “And I’m sure if we watch the footage from the elevator’s security camera, that is exactly what we’ll see. You acting like an ass toward a woman who is under severe duress. I don’t give a shit who you’re friends with, that won’t fly with anyone. Especially the press. I doubt Commissioner Rumlow wants that kind of publicity.”

Hodge’s mouth snapped shut. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve breathed, shaking the detective’s hand. “That could have been a mess.”

“You’re welcome,” Detective Stark replied. He turned and gestured to a young officer standing behind him. She stepped forward, a shy smile on her face. “This is Officer Maximoff. She’ll accompany Ms. Hill and Y/N to the restroom. Just to follow protocol, of course.”

“Understood,” Steve nodded. “Maria?”

The next thing you knew, the handcuffs were being removed and you were being ushered into the nearest restroom by a tall brunette and Officer Maximoff. While you cleaned yourself up as best you could, the tall brunette introduced herself as Maria Hill, Steve’s assistant, and explained what would happen in front of the judge. Once you felt somewhat normal, you were escorted back into the hallway, where Steve was waiting, along with his best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Steve hurried over, his eyes drifting over you, a kind smile on his face. He put a hand in the middle of your back, patting you gently. You blew out the breath you’d been holding; just being close to Steve made you feel better; there was a something about him that made you feel calm.

The door behind Bucky opened and a young man called your name and a number, drawing Steve’s attention away from you.

“Alright, here we go,” Steve said, taking hold of your elbow and leading you into the courtroom.

The first person you saw when you stepped through the door was Brock’s father, the police commissioner himself, Albert Rumlow. He was sitting in the front row, arms crossed over his chest, glowering. You instinctively moved closer to Steve when his eyes settled on you. You’d always been terrified of Brock’s father, the two of you never really warming to each other, even after your marriage to his son. At best, he had tolerated you, and when you’d filed for divorce, it had been all out war. Seeing him there was no surprise.

Steve’s hand tightened momentarily on your arm, a reassuring squeeze meant to put you at ease. You came to a stop at the podium, standing to one side of Steve, Bucky and Maria sitting in a set of chairs directly behind you. Sharon Carter stepped up to the end of the table, shuffling the papers in her hand.

“Bail, Ms. Carter?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Sharon nodded. “The state is asking for bail set at two million dollars.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered from behind you. “That’s ridiculous.”

You bit your tongue, though everything inside of you was screaming to argue with the judge. You gripped the edge of the table and tried to stay upright. This nightmare was never going to end.

“Seriously, your honor?” Steve scoffed. “Ms. Rumlow is not charged with murder. In fact, my client shouldn’t have been charged with conspiracy to commit murder or attempted murder. Those charges were filed before Mr. Rumlow - the victim and the only witness - was even interviewed.”

“Is that true, Ms. Carter?” the judge asked.

Sharon cleared her throat and spent a couple of minutes desperately looking through her papers - maybe hoping to find evidence of the opposite - before she finally faced the judge. “It does appear as if the charges were filed _before_ Mr. Rumlow regained consciousness and gave his statement.”

The judge raised an eyebrow and folded his hands in front of him. “Ms. Carter, it appears as if you or the honorable district attorney, I don’t know which, rushed to judgment in this case. I have no choice but to release Mrs. Rumlow and drop the charges against her.”

“But your honor -”

“If you wish to file new charges, Ms. Carter,” the judge interrupted her, “you most certainly can. But perhaps next time, you might want to make sure there has been a thorough investigation before charging someone with something that could put them in jail for a very long time.”

“I apologize, your honor,” Sharon murmured.

“Mrs. Rumlow, you are free to go.” The knock of the gavel echoed through the courtroom. “Bailiff, call the next case.”

“Wait, it’s over?” you murmured.

Steve took hold of your arm once again, guiding you quickly from the courtroom, Maria and Bucky following closely behind. He didn’t stop until you were standing at the end of the hall.

“I-I don’t understand -” you said, still confused about what had just happened.

“For now, the charges have been dropped,” Steve explained. “But, I’m sure that they’ll be filed again and as soon as possible, if I know Sharon.”

“Really?” you sighed. “Does that mean I’ll be arrested again? This is just a reprieve?”

“Most likely,” Steve nodded. “Look, we can talk about this back at my office. Maria, will you take Y/N and get the paperwork pushed through for her release? I want her out of here asap.”

“Right,” Maria nodded. “Come on, Y/N, let’s get you out of here.”

* * *

“Steve?”

He froze, mumbling under his breath before turning to face Sharon. He’d hoped to make it out of the building without running into her; the less he interacted with her, the better.

“Ms. Carter?” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I’ll be re-filing those charges,” Sharon replied. “Within twenty-four hours. Make sure your client doesn’t leave town.”

“Once you file those charges, Ms. Carter, you let me know,” Steve said. “Until then, have a nice day.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Steve,” Sharon sighed. “But this is a lose, lose situation. There’s a lot of reasons Y/N would want Brock dead. I wasn’t wrong to charge her like I did.”

“You rushed to file charges,” Steve shook his head. “You show me some real evidence, you show me why she should go to jail. Not some kind of bullshit dug up by her father-in-law who obviously dislikes her, but concrete evidence, witnesses, whatever. Not the word of a man who hates her and her abusive soon-to-be ex. Real evidence, Sharon. You call me once you have that.”

Sharon opened her mouth, probably to argue with him, but he turned and stalked off, heading for the side door where Maria and Bucky were waiting with Y/N. He didn’t have time to argue with Sharon, he had a defense to build. It was only a matter of time before Y/N was fighting for her life again.


End file.
